


Stop Pushing Me Away

by orphan_account



Series: Brencer Fanfictions [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fever, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vices & Virtues (Album), brendon is a stubborn little shit when he's sick and it's pissing spencer off, but spencer still tries to help bc he loves bren, cause that's all i write apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:59:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Two hours. It's been two fucking hours. He's been sitting on that goddamn couch for two fucking hours, completely miserable. He has a fever, a terrible cough, he can't breath though his fucking nose, and he's not letting me go anywhere near him.





	

Two hours. It's been two fucking hours. He's been sitting on that goddamn couch for two fucking hours, completely miserable. He has a fever, a terrible cough, he can't breath though his fucking nose, and he's not letting me go anywhere near him.

I knew something was off when we woke up this morning. He was pressed up against me, shivering, his skin too hot. He was sweating. He looked terrible and he sounded even worse. He could barely fucking talk, let alone go to the studio and sing for eight goddamn hours. I knew he wanted affection, he knew he wanted affection, and yet he pushed me away, insisting it was nothing. That he was fine. Completely fine. Don't worry, really, he's fine. I didn't bother to fight with him, he was clearly feeling like shit and me yelling at him was the last thing any of us needed.

He went to go take a shower, and I let him. Hounding him or acting over-protective wasn't going to help anything at that point, either, so I let him be despite how worrying it was to see him hunch over in the doorway of the bathroom and almost start gagging, he was coughing so much. I went downstairs, I fed the dogs, I let them outside, I fed myself. Made him some oatmeal, since it's easy to eat and would fill him up and give him energy without him having to eat much, because I doubted he had any kind of a big appetite.

I went upstairs to check up on him just as he had gotten out of the shower. He had his green towel pulled tight around his shoulders, unlike how he usually wraps it lazily around his waist. I said nothing of this, just patted him on the shoulder quickly before passing him to shower myself. I was quick, not liking the idea of not being able to see or hear him for a long period of time when he looked like he was about to pass out any fucking second.

I dried off and quickly got dressed. I went downstairs and found him letting the dogs back inside. He had eaten half of the bowl of oatmeal I made him, which was more than I had expected. He was drinking a coffee now. Still looked dead tired. But he's ready to head out, he told me. He coughed. It was hard and he doubled over. I stared. He gave me an annoyed look. He's fine, he said again. Let's just get going, we're losing daylight, he said. I just nodded and we headed out to the car.

I didn't even offer to drive, I just got behind the wheel and started the car. The radio turned on, some pop song started playing. He didn't say anything of this, just got in the passengers side and buckled his seat belt. I drove off. He tried his best not to cough, but he did nonetheless. I said nothing of this, just kept my eyes on the road. At that point so much as looking at him would've probably caused him to get out of the car and walk to the fucking studio himself. Neither of us needed that right now.

After what felt like ten years I parked the car and we made our way inside. It's just us today, no Dallon, no audio tech, just me and him. We've been in studios enough times now we understand how to work them, and the label trusts us enough to give us alone time to work and record when we aren't on a deadline. Brendon made his way inside to our recording booth and I followed, leaving some distance between us so he didn't explode. I checked us in in an effort to conserve what little voice Brendon had left, if he even had any left at all, and he let me.

We finally got to our space, and Brendon let out a round of coughs he'd been holding in. It took everything in me to not go over and rub his back and hold him. He's in terrible shape, I had no idea how he expected himself to record any vocals at all today, but he insisted it's what we start with. I just nodded, sat at the controls and slipped on one of the huge pairs of headphones while Brendon entered the recording booth.

If you had just walked into the room and heard Brendon singing, you would have no idea the kind of morning he had. He didn't sound sick at all. And sure, I've toured with him for years, and Brendon has gotten sick like nobody's business and performed shows without a hitch, sure. But he's never gotten _this sick_. A slight cough and a fever? Sure. Headache and sniffles? Yeah. I mean hell, he's even performed with the stomach flu, having to stop halfway through a show to throw up.

But this? I've never seen this. I've never seen him so disoriented he looks like he's about to pass out unless he's had a shot or five. I've never seen him cough so much he almost throws up. I've never seen him so weak. And yet here he is, sounding as if he couldn't be healthier. Of course, the illusion was ruined when he hit a long note and almost fell over in a coughing fit. I was about to go into the booth when he yells at me. No! No he yells, collecting his bearings, standing up straight again. We're gonna keep going, He's fine, he insists. I sigh, I just want to take him home.

But we kept going. He got through almost two songs before he had to sit himself on the floor and try to remind himself how to breath normally. It was quite impressive to say the least, he was going for three and a half hours. I stood from behind the mixing board and brought him a bottle of water, which he took graciously, seeming to forget he was in total resistance mode and let me sit next to him and rub his back as he drank the cool liquid. It made him shiver, despite the warm hoodie he'd decided to wear today. He drank most of the water before insisting he finish the rest of the song. I didn't say anything, just went back outside and sat down once again.

And he did it. Got through the last of the vocals for the song. Stumbled his way out of the recording booth and sat himself on the large plush couch behind me.

That was two hours ago. Now here he is, sweating and shaking, coughing and sniffling and not letting me do a single thing about it.

"Brendon.." I whisper, and he looks up at me like he's forgotten I'm here.

"I just need two more minutes!" He tries to shout, but his voice is so weak it's hardly audible.

"Bren you've been sitting here for two hours.." I whisper, suppressing my want to start yelling at him for being so dumb and even coming to record in the first place. His brows knit together in confusion, like he has no idea what I'm talking about. "Bren you look like shit and you sound like shit and I can tell you feel like shit, too. Let's just call it a day and go home." I suggest softly, and he sighs like he knows I'm right. I sit down next to him and he lets me, and I pull him close to me as he starts coughing again. He groans into my chest and I just hold onto him, knowing that we've both needed this all day.

"I'm sorry." He tries, but his voice cuts out and he's barely able to whisper, and I just shush him and continue to hold him.

"You've gotta stop with this whole defensive thing, Bren. It's unhealthy. It's okay to admit that you're not feeling well, it's okay to admit you need help, it's okay to admit you need a break. Your health is the number one priority, physical or otherwise, and I promise you you're not going to make anyone mad or disappointed if you're sick or you need a break."  

"I don't wanna let anyone down." Brendon whispered, coughing again. I almost laugh.

"You're sick, Bren. You're not gonna get fired from your own band for being sick." Brendon tried to smile. 

"I didn't wanna let you down." Brendon murmured into my chest.

"You never have and you never will. You could never." I tell him. He takes a deep breath, and I pull his even closer. "Let's just get you home, yeah? I'll take care of you." Brendon nods into my shoulder. I manage to get him into the car, and the soothing movements of the vehicle pull him into a much needed sleep. I'm glad I was finally able to get him home, but I know that as frustrating as it was, that was the easy part.

If there's one thing I've learned about being with Brendon all these years, it's that he never gives you a day off.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk, just something cute. Hope you enjoyed. Not really sure if I'm gonna write a second chapter, but hey if anyone wants another chapter let me know. I think this story is real cute so if you want another chapter drop a comment and I'll get on it.


End file.
